


Breathe

by Medie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Harlequin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago, John Sheppard walked out on their marriage, Meredith McKay walked out on the SGC, now he's back. The question is, why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/profile)[**undermistletoe**](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/) challenge. My thanks to [](http://ancientsavvy.livejournal.com/profile)[**ancientsavvy**](http://ancientsavvy.livejournal.com/) for the beta and [](http://azarsuerte.livejournal.com/profile)[**azarsuerte**](http://azarsuerte.livejournal.com/) and [](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/profile)[**havocthecat**](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/) for the hand-holding and my flist for putting up with my whining.

"I'm leaving."

John's announcement is no surprise, even to Meredith. She swallows convulsively, keeping her eyes focused on the computer screen before her. Her fingers, which had been dancing over the keyboard, cease their activity as the numb feeling of shock settles into her stomach. It's no surprise, but hearing it still hits with the subtlety of a freight train.

Finding her voice, Meredith sits straighter. "Well, yes, of course you are." Because that's precisely the sort of thing one does three weeks before Christmas, three days after yet another near apocalypse in which, as usual, the aversion of she'd had nothing to do with. In theory. Except, of course, she totally had, not that Stargate Command would ever admit it. "It's precisely the time I should have expected it." If she believed in miracles, she would consider her voice staying even one of them. With only a faint quaver about her words, she asks, "I take it Sam is waiting downstairs?"

It's almost a surprise that Sam isn't here, but on the other hand, Meredith thinks it probably shouldn't be. As marginally competent a scientist and soldier is, her former colleague has never been particularly good with confrontation. As Meredith well knows, she prefers to let superiors and go-betweens fight her battles. Or, at the very least, she doesn't stop them from doing so. Either way, Meredith doesn't have much of an opinion of it beyond an extreme amount of disdain.

After all, it's also far easier to maintain a genial reputation if one lets someone else do the dirty work. On a strategic level, she can't really argue with it. It does allow for a tremendous amount of damage while remaining personally above the fray. No one would look at Major Samantha Carter and ever believe the woman had very nearly destroyed Dr. Meredith McKay-Sheppard's life. _Twice_.

With John's announcement, the old adage has certainly proven true. The third time's the charm for Sam. It sure as hell feels as if Meredith's life is falling apart around her ears and there's not a damn thing that she can do about it.

It's bitter, and unfair, but she seizes on the belief with the desperation of a drowning man. It makes sense. She can't try to send Meredith to a proverbial gulag these days, not with Meredith a private citizen. It's the one thing that Meredith truly enjoys about returning to the family business. She's completely unaffiliated with the military of any nation and she loves every second of it.

There's no answering to anyone, no walking on eggshells, no need to concern herself with the social niceties, only the truly useless prize. She's truly enjoyed leaving the SGC behind. Consulting at a distance is a far better fit.

Or so she'd thought. Sitting here, listening to her husband ending their marriage, Meredith is experiencing a new emotion. Self-doubt.

She bites her lip, staring blindly at her computer screen. On some level, she can feel the deep, bone-freezing terror beginning to set in. She's in shock. She has to be. She imagines this is what one feels like sitting in a doctor's office receiving a horrific diagnosis of some sort.

Logically, of course, she is aware that Sam Carter is hardly a home-wrecker. The woman is too busy being the darling of Cheyenne Mountain to be chasing someone else's husband, but for once she could give a rat's ass about logic. She's absolutely convinced that somewhere in the parking garage, Sam Carter is feeling insufferably smug and Meredith detests her for it.

If that makes her even more of a bitch than usual, well, she just doesn't care. Not a bit.

She really is dying inside.

"Yes," John says after a hesitation, the soft admission breaking through the roaring in Meredith's ears. "She is." He takes a step, his shoe making a soft thud on the hardwood floors. She slipped on those floors three days after they'd moved in, wrenching her back. John spent a week happily playing nurse. "She, uh, she's going to give --"

"Please," Meredith quickly interrupts, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. She can't stand to hear this, not with a sob threatening to break free. "Spare me the details, John. I'm sure you and Sam have a wonderful new life planned out for yourselves, but as you can imagine, I really don't need to hear every detail." She will not lose it. She will not break, not even for this. There are expectations of her family and she will live up to them. Not even when her pulse is pounding in her ears and her heart is seizing in her chest.

She makes her fingers move on the keyboard, not caring if what comes out is gibberish. She needs to keep working, needs to force her mind away from the images it's laying out in high definition. She can't believe it's happening. They've been having their problems, but she'd never thought it would come to this. John's always been a habitual flirt, she's always ignored it, never thinking it was anything but second nature. Impossibility becoming reality. Perhaps she should be expecting pigs to fly next. One of dear Sam's theories actually proving one of hers wrong? She raises her chin and thins her lips, the anger choking her. He's still standing behind her, indecision likely holding him where he stands, and she hates him for it.

It pushes her forward into speaking. "You can leave now. I'm not going to beg for you to stay if that's what you're waiting for. You should know me better than that, John." She laughs, it's ragged and broken and she hates herself for the weakness of it. "If you ever knew me at all."

"I'm not --" John stops. "Mer, I --"

"The servants can help with your things," she swallows hard, refusing to choke on the hot burn of tears. "You'll need help with the record collection." God, she's actually going to miss Johnny Cash. _Miss_ it. The mere thought of that astounds her.

"I can manage," John says, his voice tightening with frustration. "Aren't you -- Fuck, Meredith, don't you want to know _why_?"

No. She doesn't. She can't imagine a reason that would make this understandable and she doesn't want to hear him try. Caustic anger cuts through her words as she bites out, "I'm sure that I can guess."

Pressing her palms flat on the desk, she keeps her eyes fixed on the wall before her. She's never really liked the penthouse. It's served her purposes, of course, just as it's counterpart in Washington did, but she's never really liked it. Neither did John. She doesn't know why they bothered to stay here.

She thinks maybe she'll move.

Unable to take it a second longer, she flees for the door, barely able to see through the water filling her eyes. She hits a couch on the way along, her hip bumping into it and causing her to stumble.

Dimly, she hears John move. His hand brushes her arm, as if reaching to steady her, but she jerks free and closes the distance to the door in two quick steps.

The knob is cold beneath her hand and she takes a shuddering breath, resisting the urge to fling it open and run. She will _not_ give in that easily.

"Meredith."

Behind her, John's voice is ragged and, fuck if that doesn't make her hurt more. She's not supposed to feel sorry for _him_. She slaps her palm against the door, sending a quick burst of pain through her hand. It clears her mind enough that she can turn, looking at him with wary eyes. "Yes?"

"I'm --" He stops again, his voice cracking. He can't possibly be trying to reassure her. As if she'd need it. He's the one destroying their life. "I didn't --"

She whirls around, anger driving the sudden turn, but habit kicks in before she can speak. The control Grandmere drilled into her head clamps down on her tongue and she falls silent before she can even speak. She will not show such a weakness, not in front of him or anyone. Grandmere would never forgive it.

Meredith takes a breath, letting the reminder push strength into her spine. She's composed and calm when she finally looks at him again.

He looks terrible. She almost feels guilty for enjoying it. Almost. The deep satisfaction twists as much as it helps, but she can't regret it. She walks forward, refusing to let herself fall to pieces. If he's going to leave her and get into Sam Carter's car, into Sam's bed, then she won't let him go without the memory of this moment.

She finds it in herself to smile slightly as she stretches up, lightly kissing his lips. "Goodbye John."

Her feet carry her out the door and down the hall before he has a chance to react. When she reaches their bedroom - _her_ bedroom – and she closes the door behind her and locks it. With that done, she sags to the floor and rests her forehead on her knees.

Nebby, their cat, wanders over, bumping his head against her side. She sighs, sitting back against the door and letting him crowd his way onto her lap.

Petting him absently, she says, "Just you and me now, Neb."

Her marriage is over.

-

She doesn't miss John.

-

She doesn't miss breathing either.

-

She always was a shitty liar.

-

Meredith retreats after the divorce, becoming something of a hermit. She's never had much use for public society, tolerating the endless appearances and events her grandmother and mother forced her to attend. The photographers and the gossip rags with their quiet whispers and wagging tongues have never received even that much respect. Calling them bottom feeders is being generous.

Half the fun of classified projects is the quiet, but insistent way the military rid her of them. Back in the public spotlight, Meredith quickly uses the family money and influence to indulge in her eccentricities. She shuns the public events and parties her name expects of her in favor of hiding. Reacquainting herself with the various tech companies under the McKay name gives her plenty to excuse her absences.

Terminating her few remaining contracts with the American military, Meredith decides to go home. Stargate Command and John both have made it abundantly clear that her services are no longer required. Leaving Colorado is the easiest thing she's ever done. She walks away from the contracts without looking back, leaving the mess for the family lawyers to handle. They take care of closing up the Washington house and the divorce as well. She's certainly paying them enough and she just can't do it.

The idea of sitting down at that table, looking John in the eye and watching while they divide up their life leaves her shaking. Nothing, with the pent up rage and anguish that she's keeping locked tight in her breast, could carry her through that. If it makes her a coward, so be it, but she boards the plane without looking back.

It's the only thing, right now, that she's sure of. Her marriage and her career are both in shambles. Meredith just wants to go home.

Home and the business. It's all she needs. All she's ever needed. She just forgot that for a while.

-

The trip home is one mindless blur. She spends half the time worrying about Nebby and the other explaining that, no, her aversion to citrus is _not_ just an eccentricity.

"Amazing, really," she mutters, glaring down yet another well-meaning nitwit. "How difficult is it to understand the words anaphylactic shock? You must hear them a hundred times a day."

She doesn't make the girl cry, but she thinks it might be a close thing. The only thing that makes her regret it is picturing the look on John's face.

Meredith orders a drink and closes her eyes with the wish that face would go away.

She falls asleep, numb with the realization that it has.

-

Jeannie meets her at the airport. "You look like shit."

Handing off her bag to the chauffeur, Meredith smiles tiredly at her sister. "It's good to see you too." She lets herself be yanked into her sister's arms for a bone-crushing hug. She hasn't seen Jeannie since the holidays. Too long, but she knows it would've been longer. She's never been good about remembering that sort of thing. Too many hours in the lab, staring at a computer, too many numbers bouncing around in her own head to remember the sorts of things real people do.

That's what she has John for. She swallows. What she _had_ John for. Estranged from his own family, John's almost fanatical about his participation in hers. She wonders, with a flash of guilt, how that will play out now. If the divorce – she hopes not and then wonders why. John chose this. She didn't.

_Not that you fought him on it._ a traitorous part of herself whispers. She bites her lip, hugging her sister tighter. She didn't want to fight him on it. She wanted John to fight for them. It's juvenile, but she knows that's a part of it. All those sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer turned out to be good for something. On the subject of her divorce, Meredith is well versed in just where to put the blame.

She just doesn't care. It looks better on John anyway.

Meredith pulls back, looking at her sister. "How is Madison?"

"Excited. I have no idea why, but your niece is really giddy about seeing you." Jeannie's smile dims. "I didn't tell her about the divorce. I really don't know how. She's so young -- "

"Don't." Meredith withdraws from her sister, starting toward the door and trusting both she and their chauffeur will follow. "You're right. She's too young and I don't want to put her in the middle of this. She adores John."

"She's not the only one." Jeannie nudges her as she catches up. "What the hell is going on, Mer? You guys were fine at Christmas --"

"We're really very good liars," says Meredith. She bites her lip. Truth was, back then she hadn't realized anything was wrong. John had only just joined Stargate Command. They hadn't asked for her help with the Anubis issue yet. She'd been focused on the X302 project, happily immersed in the puzzles of the intermix chamber and balancing four different drives while not blowing the pilot to hell and back --

She wishes she'd been paying attention. Sighing, she admits as much, adding, "Whatever it was? I have absolutely no idea." She thinks of Sam and shakes her head. "Irrational suspicions, maybe, but no concrete idea."

Jeannie bites her lip. "Was there another woman?"

She looks so tentative, and torn, that Meredith shakes her head. Madison isn't the only member of her family that adores John. The idea that he might have betrayed her sister is clearly bothering Jeannie.

"As much as I'd like to blame Sam," Meredith shrugs. "I don't think so. Maybe now, but not then." She smiles wryly. "If only because she's nearly committed career suicide once. She's not crazy enough to do it twice."

Jeannie links arms with her. "Can I hate her anyway?" The offer is cheerfully made, but Meredith can see it in her eyes. She'd do it if Meredith asked.

Her smile widens and she shakes her head again. "No. For once, I'm going to try and be an adult about this."

Widening her eyes with feigned disbelief, Jeannie leans in. "Do you know how?"

Meredith laughs at that, but by the time she slips into the limo, she's crying. To her credit, Jeannie pretends not to notice. At least, not beyond subtly pushing a tissue into her hands.

It's enough.

-

She spends the spring trying to figure it out; pretending to work on what's left of her SGC projects. As far as Meredith is concerned, she owes Stargate Command absolutely nothing but she wants to do this anyway. She wants the satisfaction of being the bigger person, even if that means she isn't the bigger person at all.

The problem is she gets nowhere. She sits and toys with the equations, pushing numbers and symbols here and there. Aimlessly rearranging them on the page as if that will shake some sense out of them and make the X302's engines work. She wishes she could call Jonas and pick his brain, but that's not an option. Instead, she sits at her desk, poking at work which goes nowhere while she stares out at the bay with eyes that see none of it.

Which is where Meredith stays. She spends days like that. Those days turn into weeks and weeks into months. By the time the wet spring becomes a hot and sticky summer, she's no closer to figuring it out.

She's not sure that she ever will. She makes progress on her work, sending what she has to Paul Davis. He can deliver it to the Mountain. Let Sam make of it what she will. She hopes it's enough, but keeps working anyway.

"I know," says Meredith, scratching Nebby's ears. "But I promise, it sounds much more pathetic than it actually is."

Nebby yowls, his claws digging into the denim of her jeans as he makes a bed of her lap. She takes it as the disagreement it probably is and grins.

"Well, you can take it that way if you want, but really, I was doing quite fine before John Sheppard. I can manage just as well without him." She pulls her computer closer then reaches for her coffee cup.

It's empty.

She opens her mouth, then shuts her eyes when she catches herself about to call John's name.

Okay. Maybe it is _almost_ that pathetic.

-

John calls. She doesn't answer. He calls Jeannie anyway. If it's important, she'll find out.

-

Jeannie doesn't call. It doesn't hurt.

-

He's not coming back. She realizes it on Canada Day. Waking briefly at dawn at the family cottage, she rolls over onto a quilt that smells of musk and shuttered windows. The alarm clock by her bed flicks digits over onto six and she's about to speak, to tell John to put on the coffee, when she remembers.

Meredith swears, taking a visceral thrill in the guilty pleasure of it. Grandmere had always taken such a dim view of such language. Even now, with Grandmere in Quebec, three days older than God and twice as grouchy, she still expects the old woman to cuff her lightly with the cane.

John always liked Grandmere. Grandmere always hated John. At least, Meredith thinks so. With Grandmere, one can never tell.

"If only he weren't an American." Meredith looks at the sleeping Nebby. "I think if John'd just been an Anglo, like Dad, she might've forgiven him." She rolls over, closing her eyes again. Her throat tightens. "He's not coming back." And worse, she's been waiting for him.

She lets herself drift off. When she wakes up, everything will be different.

-

Nothing changes at all.

-

At least, nothing changes until something does. Just not the something that Meredith was expecting. It's annoying, but not particularly a surprise.

She's been ducking calls from the SGC for months. Some are John. Some Sam. She refuses to speak with them directly, sending off terse emails when she has to communicate with someone involved in the project. It's easier this way. Easier to keep a professional distance and avoid the usual awkwardness.

Meredith chews the end of her pencil, staring at her computer screen. She's had enough of the internal politics of Stargate Command. She's never had much use for politics of any kind, finding office politics even more useless than their real world counterparts.

Nevertheless, the shake up at the Mountain, General Hammond's reassignment, and the introduction of Elizabeth Weir are tantalizing developments. She's had some dealings with Weir, loose though they were. They moved in the same circles at the UN and she's heard good things. As UN officials go, the woman isn't entirely incompetent. As American diplomats go, she's even managed to demonstrate some respect for the organization. From Meredith's perspective, it puts Weir far above the rest.

Not that she's in any hurry to return to the SGC to find out. Even with Hammond gone, she suspects that O'Neill and company still rule the place. Crow bars and high explosives couldn't get them out of there and that's the problem. As long as they're still in those positions, she knows the situation won't improve. In fact, all things considered, she suspects they'd be even worse. She never did determine where the reassignment to Russia came from. It still doesn't make sense, even years later.

She knows the Russians were screaming for compensation, but still, factoring the sheer magnitude of the security risk. With the top secret projects on her resume, sending her into the hands of the Russians is insane. Even in a post-Cold War world. No one wants to take that kind of a risk. She should know, it's the argument she used with Ottawa to get out of it.

They weren't in any hurry to share their military secrets either.

Not knowing who it is, she can't imagine any way that the SGC as is would welcome her. Still, she's tempted to look into it. It might be worth knowing what Elizabeth Weir might be willing to do.

-

As it happens, Elizabeth Weir is willing to talk.

-

She's in the library at the Halifax house. It's not technically in Halifax, of course. It's out near one of the Dutch settlements, almost a settlement unto itself. Meredith adores it. It's more a farm than an estate, but no one ever told great-grandfather that. At least, not when he built the sprawling farmhouse that's half-house, half-mansion.

It's ancient, and drafty, but Meredith has an irrational love of it. When she comes back from the cottage, determined to forget all about John Sheppard and the marriage that was, she goes to the house. She lets herself get involved in the management of the farm, starts a new research project, and annoys the directors of the family business.

She wouldn't say she's happy, but she wouldn't say she's miserable. In fact, she's somewhere comfortably in between when Christmas rolls around and Jeannie shatters her world.

"He's _here_."

Meredith is nose deep in a potential upgrade to the X303 systems when her sister busts through the door, the announcement on her lips, cheeks red from the deep cold snap that's hit the region. Ensconced by the fire with Nebby at her side, Meredith slams the laptop shut with enough force to wake the cat and earn herself a baleful glare.

She doesn't apologize, Nebby would be insulted if she tried, so she glares at her sister instead. "Yes, he's here. Where else would you expect Nebuchadnezzer to be? Ruling Ancient Babylon?"

Which, considering his attitude, is precisely how Nebby got his name in the first place.

Jeannie scowls, whipping off her hat, leaving her hair a mess of curls. "Not the cat. _John_. John is in Halifax." Before Meredith can answer, or even think of answering, Jeannie toes off her boots and crosses the living room almost at a rush. She drops down before her sister with her coat on and her scarf cinched tightly about her neck. "I saw him. I was at the Marriott for lunch with --" She shakes her head. "Never mind that, I was at the Marriott for lunch and John was there."

Meredith presses a hand against the laptop, nails losing purchase against its slick surface. John had never liked eating at the Marriott, hadn't even liked the adjacent casino. She's surprised to hear that Jeannie saw him there. More so than hearing the fact that he's in town.

Looking at her sister, she can see there's more to it than that. "He's not alone?"

Jeannie's never been the type to squirm under her sister's scrutiny. Most of the time, Jeannie's on the other end of it, but she squirms now. "No," she says finally. "He had a woman with him. Tall, dark hair, not the way you described Sam Carter. She didn't look military at all actually."

"Did you speak to them?" Meredith asks. Her mind's racing, whirling with possibilities, as she tries to figure out just what's going on. John hasn't set foot in Halifax in over a year. Not since he'd dropped by during the holidays the previous year. Meredith hadn't seen him, of course, she'd made sure to be unavailable during his visit.

She starts mentally rearranging her schedule.

"No." Jeannie shrugs. "I ducked out before he saw me, but what's he doing here? It's not that close to Christmas yet." Save for the occasional flirtation with the apocalypse, Meredith and John spent every Christmas of their marriage in Halifax. John's never suggested visiting his family and Meredith's never asked. Talking about his family isn't something they've ever done, but she's put enough pieces together to understand the picture. He's barely on speaking terms with his parents, asking him to spend Christmas alone would be cruel.

Besides, separating John and Madison during the holidays would be a crime against humanity and Meredith's still scared of Jeannie.

At least, that's what she's telling herself. She almost believes it most days. "He's not visiting for Christmas." She opens her laptop again. "He wouldn't bring a woman here for that."

Jeannie looks sympathetic. "Are you sure, Mer? It's been over a year."

"He wouldn't," Meredith insists, stubborn. "Too big a chance of running into Madison. He's not about to risk that." She cocks a brow at her sister. "She's too young to understand a divorce, how is she going to understand a new girlfriend?"

"She understands more than you'd think." Jeannie sighs. "She knows you're unhappy."

With a faint smile, Meredith opens her email. "That's not an unusual state for me." She starts typing, continuing an email she'd begun earlier. It's a response to a proposal from a Czech scientist, Ze-something or other. She's never heard of him and after what she's read, she's convinced that she wants to rectify that.

Considering the conversation closed, she doesn't look up again. The subject of John is a sore one at the best of times. The idea of him, here, with another woman makes it doubly so.

After a minute of protracted silence, Jeannie shifts in front of her, knees bumping Meredith's legs. "Mer --" She's uncomfortable, fidgeting, and Meredith can sense another moment of sisterly concern incoming. It makes her want to cringe and pull away. They aren't good with this, never have been. Biting sarcasm and cutting remarks are their specialty; she doesn't know what to do with this. Even if this is probably what she needs.

"I can handle it, Jeannie." She looks up from the computer. "Save your worry. I'm fine." With a sigh, she smiles. It's as tired and worn as she feels, but it's the truth. "It's not going to be easy, seeing him with another woman, but I will handle it." With a confidence that she doesn't really feel, she blusters, "I'm sure she hardly compares."

Laughing, Jeannie stands up and drops a kiss on her hair. "God, no. Whatever you are, big sister, you're one of a kind."

Meredith doesn't answer that. Too many ways that it can run both ways. She just stares at her computer screen and waits for her sister to leave.

-

She drops by the club on the way home. With a car full of Christmas presents, she's shopped out. Walking into White's, she passes off her coat and hat to a waiting employee then heads for her favorite spot. The overstuffed sofa between the patio and the fireplace is calling her name and she drops into it with a loud sigh.

Leaning back against the seat, Meredith closes her eyes and rubs her temples. She's exhausted and not just from the shopping. She'd barely paid attention last Christmas. This year, she's feeling John's absence like a physical ache. The knowledge that he's somewhere in the city just makes it worse.

The waiter doesn't waste time coming to take her order and she wearily asks for a coffee without opening her eyes.

"Sure," says a familiar voice, "Same as always?"

_John_.

Her eyes fly open and she stares up, stunned, at her ex-husband. He grins back, looking the same as the last time she saw him. The bastard. He's supposed to be falling apart, broken by the loss of her, not standing there smiling like a loon. "John?" She shakes her head, not quite believing her eyes as she sits up. "What are you doing here? Isn't --" Biting off the comment, she gestures him down onto the couch with her. "Shouldn't you be at the Mountain?" As if she doesn't know he's been in town for two weeks. It's maddening. Every time she runs into someone, they mention John. She couldn't be keeping a closer track of his movements if she were actively trying.

He sits beside her, the familiar smell of his aftershave tempting her to move closer. She swallows hard, digging one hand into the soft fabric of the cushion beneath her. If missing him from a thousand miles away is difficult, this could kill her. Looking at him, close enough to see the crinkles in his eyes and the persistent hint of stubble lining his jaw, she thinks she might die of it.

"I'm in town on business." John gestures at her. "With you actually."

Raising one eyebrow, Meredith raises a hand for a waiter. A familiar face to her, he's bringing her a coffee before she can even order. She smiles her thanks, resolving to leave a healthy tip when she realizes it's Irish. The club has always been moderately competent in hiring their staff and this one isn't useless. "Business with me?" She crosses her legs and sips the coffee slowly. "Explain."

"They want you back."

"No." Meredith's answer comes easily, without any explanation.

"No?" John raises his eyebrows. "That was fast. You didn't even have to think about it."

"Of course, I didn't." Meredith takes another sip of coffee. "Why would I?" Before he can open his mouth, she answers the question for him. It goes much more quickly when she just saves them the trouble of trying. "We both know 'they' would be quite happy to see me tumble into a black hole and I'd be just as happy to go. It's a waste of time to even consider any return of consequence. Anything I'd say, whether right or not, would be dismissed for the simple fact it's coming out of my mouth. It would be as pleasant as a root canal." Managing to smile, she puts her coffee down. "They could have saved themselves the air fare and emailed me." She feels a wild stab of hope that coming here was his idea, not Stargate Command. She can't see any reason why the SGC would go to these lengths to bring her back.

He ducks his head, his gaze falling on the fireplace before them. With the cold snap outside, the fire is a welcome one. Watching John watch the fire, she wishes things were different. It wouldn't have been so long ago that they'd been sitting in this very spot, watching another fire.

Without the distance that's between them now.

She reaches for her mug again, biting her lip. She wants to ask how he is. What's been going on at the Mountain? Her mind whirls, coming up with a half dozen logical questions that she could ask. All of them are perfectly safe topics. The sorts of things that the amicably divorced ask each other, but she can't make a single one of them cross her lips.

"You look good."

John's comment surprises her, making her jump, and Meredith realizes she's drifted off. He's watching her, now, not the fire.

She tries to smile, "Yes, well, I suppose the cold air agrees with me."

He chuckles but it sounds forced. "Colorado has cold air."

"Not to mention more than a few unfortunate drawbacks." She doesn't mention Sam's name, but she doesn't have to. Like a lot of the fights they've had lately, Sam is the elephant in the room. "I'm not going back, John." Every time that she's set foot in the SGC, she's come out the worse for it. She's not going to risk giving it, or Sam, a third shot.

She has nothing left for them to take.

"They need you."

"Why?" Meredith knows it will sound bitter, but she doesn't care. "Sam wants my membership to MENSA too? Or does Colonel O'Neill want to send me to North Korea this time? I'm sure I could do wonderful things for their nuclear program. A little naquada should hit the spot perfectly."

He sighs, deep and heartfelt, and she knows she's hit a nerve. She's closer to home than he'd like to admit. She wishes she wasn't disappointed by that. The fact that she is disappointed is a disappointment unto itself. It still mystifies her why their opinions matter.

Meredith tries to smile. It's not his fault, he doesn't deserve yet another retread of her insecurities. Especially not when they probably had a great deal to do with the divorce in the first place. Her smile is wry as she adds, "Let me guess, they threw you a party as soon as the divorce went through?" With a soft laugh, she brings her coffee to her lips. "No surprise there. I'm hardly the most popular guest they've ever had."

"No," says John. "You're not. You're pretty much a universal joke in some corners." He lifts his gaze to hers again. It's angry and hurt. She can't tell who it's directed at. It doesn't seem to be her, but, as that little voice in the back of her thoughts reminds her, it can't be them either. He just didn't leave her for Sam. In an oddly reassuring way, she's relieved by the fact her husband left her for a program as much as a woman.

"Imagine that," Meredith says flatly. "They don't like me much. I imagine Dr. Weir has heard all the horror stories." Likely the very first time Weir read a report with her name on it. She doesn't say what the logical outcome would be of the answering litany would have been, but she doesn't need to.

"No." The denial is automatic, but she can tell he means it. "Elizabeth doesn't play power games, Mer. Not like that." It's interesting that he's so protective of her. Even more so the fact they're on a first name basis. "Don't turn this down, Meredith. You have no idea what she's offering you."

"You're right," snaps Meredith. "I don't. Which is odd, don't you think? I've been consulting. I didn't sever all ties and yet you can't seem to tell me anything." She stands up, surprised by the fact her hands are shaking. She's furious. She looks at him and sees the utter loss in John's eyes. As usual, he hasn't a clue of what to do. It's nothing new. She sighs heavily. So much for that. "You should enjoy yourself while you're in town. I imagine you don't get back here much anymore and I know Madison would love to see you. They just put up the Christmas tree."

She waves a hand, gesturing for her coat and hat. "It's going to be a good Christmas." She doesn't ask him to pass her regards to his friends back at the Mountain. She doesn't trust herself not to choke on the words.

John sounds defeated when he speaks, "_Meredith_."

Risking it, Meredith gives in and bends to kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry you wasted the trip." She hesitates, and then admits, "I'm not sorry to see you."

It's as close to an admission of failure that he's ever going to get.

She straightens, taking her coat. She's surprised when John bounces up from the couch, hurrying around to help her into it. Even more so when he turns her toward him, settling her hat onto her head. He doesn't say anything as he adjusts it, just stares at her with a serious look in his eyes.

Nervous, Meredith swallows. "John --" She trails off, not sure what to say, afraid to fill the silence with whatever comes to mind. She's afraid of just what might come out. There are too many things left unsaid between them.

He sighs, so softly she barely hears it, and smiles. "Merry Christmas, Meredith."

This time, he's the one who runs.

-

"We're spending Christmas at the house."

Jeannie waits until Meredith is on a ladder to make the announcement. Meredith still isn't sure why she's on said ladder, but her sister has that sort of an effect on her. Hiring people to handle the decorating would make so much more sense, but somehow, Jeannie's decided doing some of it themselves would be more festive.

Now Meredith understands why. She grabs for the wall to balance herself as she looks down at her sister. "Is there something wrong with _your_ house?"

"Nope," Jeannie grins, "but since Mom's with Grandma --" Meredith bites her tongue, not reminding her sister how much their very-French grandmother _hates_ being called that. "-- You're going to need someone to help host the Christmas Ball."

Meredith grimaces at the mere mention of the yearly tradition. Her grandfather had started it during the Depression. He'd meant it to encourage his workers and society alike, giving them common ground during a difficult time. Over the years, the Ball has evolved into a local tradition, donating proceeds to charity while drawing the same mix of elite and common alike.

"Forgot about that, didn't you?" Jeannie helps her sister down, still grinning.

"No," snaps Meredith, not caring how defensive she sounds. "I just --" She shrugs. "I have more important things to concern myself with than a ridiculous party."

This time, Jeannie grimaces. "You hired a party planner, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Meredith shrugs. "I'm not the type to debate place settings and party favors. They're a highly reputable firm, I'm sure it will be fine." She tips her head, giving her sister a superior look. "_And_ they will be taking care of whatever decorations are deemed necessary."

Jeannie gives her a shove, knocking her into the tree. "Scrooge."


	2. Chapter 2

In retrospect, Meredith suspects she should have paid closer attention. If she had, she might not have missed her ex-husband's name on the guest list.

Plus one.

-

When Meredith Rodney McKay was a very little girl, too young to worry about IQ points, dumb home-wrecking blondes, and extraterrestrials, she loved the Christmas Ball. She would sit on her mother's bed, watching her get ready while Jeannie played. She'd wanted to grow up to be just like her mother.

The intervening years have convinced her otherwise.

Standing before the full length mirror while the seamstress makes last minute alterations, Meredith catches sight of her niece's reflection and the look of awe on her little face. For a moment, she wants to tell her the truth. Explain that it's not nearly as much fun as it looks, but she can't. She smoothes a hand over the shining material of her dress and looks at herself. Best to leave the child with her illusions for however long she can have them.

She wouldn't mind having them back herself. "It's fine," she tells the seamstress, brushing hands away. "Really."

The little Frenchwoman clucks her tongue. She's been making dresses for Meredith's grandmother's family since the Second World War. Or maybe earlier, Meredith's never had the nerve to ask. Either way, she's aged and opinionated, scolding her losing weight and ruining the fit of the dress.

Meredith just smiles, though it isn't happy. Any other day, she might have taken it as good news. Tonight, she just dismisses the woman and looks at her sister. "Might as well get this over with."

"Scrooge," says Jeannie, affectionate as ever. She's stunning in her own dress and Meredith knows she'll be co-hostessless before the night is out. Caleb won't be able to help himself, not when he sees his wife in that dress.

Meredith swallows hard. She remembers what that feels like and her heart breaks all over again. "Come on, before you spill something on that dress and ruin it."

She sweeps from the room ahead of her sister, leaving Jeannie to speak to the staff. Jeannie's always been better at that sort of thing anyway. Meredith's never wanted to be.

-

The party is in full swing when she makes her appearance at the top of the stairs. The Ball has never been about grand speeches and majestic entrances. There's no drum roll to announce her arrival, no one stops the dancing to herald her journey down the stairs. Meredith is irrationally grateful for the old tradition, though she doubts that her grandfather would have had a moment like this in mind.

Particularly not when she stops, halfway down, caught by the sight of a familiar face. "John."

He's staring at her, obviously, but that's not the point. The _way_ he's staring at her is. It's what has Meredith weak-kneed and grabbing for the banister to keep from performing a rather ungainly fall down the stairs.

She digs manicured nails into the decorations, ruining both as she silently begs him to look away.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The question boils in her thoughts, but Meredith knows she'll never be able to voice it. Deep down she is, and always has been, a coward at heart. It's the reason she lost John in the first place.

She'll never admit it to the world, but Meredith does know it. She is one of the pre-eminent minds of her time after all.

"Mer?"

Jeannie's voice in her ear, her hand on her arm, startles Meredith out of the melancholy thought. "You okay?"

"I have a house full of guests, drinking away a fortune, ruining rugs and decoration alike, and we're expecting a blizzard." Meredith scowls. "Of _course_ I'm all right. Aren't you?"

Jeannie rolls her eyes. "Bitch." Only in the McKay family is that word considered a term of endearment. She tucks an arm into Meredith's, trying to draw her toward the crowd. "Let's make nice, shall we?"

Meredith won't let herself go quite so easily. She remains stubbornly fixed in place, absolutely horrified by the hoards of people moving through her home. Grandfather was a lunatic to think this was a good idea. "We should have moved this to the Marriott," she says, still unable to tear her eyes from John. He's moving toward her, trying to shoulder his way through the crowd. "I can't believe we thought holding this in the house would be a good idea."

She doesn't know whether she wants him to make it or not. Not after their conversation at the club. Whatever job offer brought John to her door, she doesn't want to hear a word of it. Not when she's still stinging from the fact it was Stargate fucking Command that brought him back to her. Not _her_, never her, just the damn Stargate.

Meredith's learned to hate the Stargate in two years. She's learned two detest it in the last two days.

"Well, you try to convince Mom otherwise." Jeannie shrugs, not even noticing she's lost her sister's attention. "You know her. It's _tradition_. The McKays have been holding the Ball here for six decades."

"It's ridiculous," Meredith says, snapping out the words. "It's not even _her_ tradition."

"No, but you know how she is. Dad's traditions are her traditions and with him gone, she's going to move heaven and earth to make sure --" Jeannie breaks off the comment, smiling brightly as a guest steps up to greet her.

Losing track of John in the crowd, Meredith stops to watch her sister. At least, she tries, but the same thing happens to her and she cringes. Jeannie is the people person in their family. She loves this, thrives on it, while it makes Meredith want to run. Jeannie should have been the one hosting this party and it's completely nonsensical that an accident of birth order means she isn't.

Meredith barely has a chance to register she's having a conversation before it's over and she's swept into another one with someone else. Everyone, it seems, wants to wish her a Merry Christmas (as if it actually is) and ask the same ridiculous questions over and over again.

She's halfway through the second round of them when someone throws her a curve ball. "Did I see that lovely young man of yours here?" With a concerned, but excited face, the little old man leans closer. He takes her hand between his, skin worn and frail with age. "Does this mean that we might see reconciliation in your future?"

Feeling sucker punched, Meredith can't even begin to formulate an answer. She mutters something that she hopes sounds like a vague non-answer and lets herself move on to the next guest.

Through it all, she tries to find John again. Their marriage is history, but she's rattled and upset and it's instinct. When she needs him, she looks for him and he's there.

Except, this time he isn't and she doesn't know what to do. She ends up pasting on a smile, forcing it to stay there with a determination that makes her cheeks ache. She prays no one notices that it's fake or, worse, that John or Jeannie notices it. She absolutely does not want to try explaining this one to them tonight.

And if it's not people asking about her potential reconciliation, it's the society types trying to present family members as viable options. She dances with three sons of three fathers, all of whom look at her with dollar signs in their eyes. If it's not the family fortune, it's the company that built it. None of them are actually seeing her.

Not that it matters, she's not interested in another relationship. She barely survived the first one. Throwing in blatant gold-digging isn't exactly doing much to change her opinion on the matter.

It was one of the reasons she'd been willing to try with John. His family has enough money on its own. They don't need hers. Not that it matters anymore.

With a thinly-veiled attempt at an apology, Meredith slips free of another dance partner and darts into the crowd. When she looks up, she catches John's eye again. He's dancing with an older woman. One of her mother's society friends. The old woman always did have a thing for John.

She frowns, deliberately turning away.

"Dr. Sheppard?"

For a moment, the voice is unfamiliar, but Meredith is still turning before her mind can connect the dots. "Yes?" She says. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with her ears, but when she connects what the woman called her, pain lances through her chest. It steals her breath and brings tears to her eyes. She blinks them away quickly, but can't bring herself to make the usual correction. Funny, she'd never really had much use for that particular tradition before. "Is there something --" Meredith stops, narrowing her gaze. "Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth Weir smiles, nodding, "Yes." She holds out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Dr. Sheppard."

This is the woman who came with him to Halifax. She casts a glance backward, looking for John. If he and Elizabeth – Well, she doesn't want to be glad that things didn't work out with Sam, but she is. Generally, she fails at most key points of humanity.

With more grace than she feels, Meredith takes the hand and shakes it. "It's good to see you as well, Dr. Weir. It's been quite a few years, hasn't it?" She tilts her head. "I hear that you've gotten a promotion."

"Of a sort," sighs Elizabeth. "It's quite – challenging." She shakes her head. "I went in there thinking I could do so much, and now?"

Meredith chuckles. She congratulates herself on the fact it's only marginally bitter. "Yes, I know. I've been there." Which she has. Twice over even. Dealing with the SGC at the best of times, when they like you, is a challenge. Coming in as the outsider, even if you actually do know better, is a recipe for disaster.

"So I've heard," Elizabeth nods. "You had an extremely difficult time at the Mountain."

"To put it mildly," Meredith smirks. "It's an unfortunate trait in them, really. They have difficulty with superiority." Real or projected.

Elizabeth grins. "You don't mean that." Her look is surprisingly shrewd as she adds, "I know your introduction wasn't particularly ideal. With the situation involved, no one was really thinking all that clearly."

"No, they weren't," Meredith agrees. She falls into step with Elizabeth, letting the taller woman lead them through the crowd. She's impressed by the way Elizabeth handles them, deftly weaving her way through the people without an insult or a bruised toe in the bunch. At the same time, she deflects any attempts at conversation with a polite ease that Meredith couldn't manage on her best day.

If Elizabeth handles Stargate Command with the same ease, it seems likely she has them well in hand. Meredith could add something uncharitable about John, but the thought of doing so while standing at the woman's side feels terribly wrong.

"Something tells me that this is you being uncharacteristically silent." Elizabeth looks almost amused as they stop by the windows. The snow is falling heavier, less of the fluffy flakes of earlier, and more of the solid bulk that coats the lawn and the sea of parked cars.

Meredith manages a tight smile. "My ex-husband is prone to talking too much." She folds her arms, looking at her. "He let the cat out of the bag."

"That's all right." Elizabeth accepts a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Meredith does the same. She's not in the mood to celebrate, but she's willing to make an attempt at pretending. "I was hoping he might. He's been excited about this."

Sipping the champagne, Meredith nearly chokes. "_Excited_?"

"Mmhm," Elizabeth nods. "I don't know the circumstances of your divorce, but I must say, your ex-husband doesn't particularly behave like most ex-husbands I've known."

On that, Meredith does smile. "I'm not surprised. My hu-- John has never really behaved like anyone else. He delights in being atypical." Another sharp jab of pain as she realizes that delight doesn't quite extend to the SGC. There, John fits in with a glee that's almost inhuman. "It's one of his more endearing, but infuriating, qualities."

Elizabeth grins. "I think I know what you mean."

"If you don't yet, give it time." Meredith shrugs. "The first time your orders disagree with what his gut tells him --"

"Well, I won't be giving many orders much longer," Elizabeth smiles. "I've accepted a new position."

Meredith's eyebrows rise. "So fast?" It's not the shortest tenure Stargate Command has ever seen, but it's certainly not giving General Hammond a run for his money. She's on the verge of asking Elizabeth for further explanation, likely stomping all over the woman's already bruised ego, when Jeannie intervenes.

Popping out of the crowd, Jeannie takes Meredith by the hand and looks at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with my sister for a moment." With that said, she grabs tight and pulls the protesting Meredith out of the room.

-

"I hope this is something important," Meredith snaps, pulling her arm free of her sister's grip and closing the door behind her. "Do you have any idea just who I was talking to?"

"Yeah!" Jeannie nods. "The woman John was --"

"Elizabeth Weir." Meredith closes the door behind her. They've ended up in her grandfather's library, just down the hall, and her favorite room in the house. "Yes, I know that." The scent of books, old but timeless, tempts her to forget the party and curl up with one of her favorites. "Please tell me that this isn't some misguided attempt at protecting me, because if it is --"

Jeannie's responding look is withering. "Don't be ridiculous, I was protecting _her_. You're scary when you're hostile." She shakes her head. "Honestly, Meredith, not everything is about your divorce."

Her skirt rustles as she hurries across the room, pulling back the curtains. The snow that had been falling heavy, but steady, is now anything but. It's blowing past the window in a wall of white.

"We have a problem," she says, looking at her sister.

Meredith smiles. "Hardly. We have a myriad of problems, the least of which is the snow." She goes for the phone. "You'll explain the situation. I'll call the government."

Jeannie grins. "What, we don't have enough infighting and indecision right here?"

Heedless of her dress, Meredith sits at her grandfather's desk. "Yes, but what we don't have, and might find useful in the immediate future, is a snowplow. The department of highways, however, happens to have a lot of them. I plan on borrowing at least one." It isn't as if the government doesn't owe her a favor, or twenty. She does tend to do an alarming amount of work for them pro bono. Good for the family name or so Grandmere has always insisted.

"Go." She waves her sister toward the door. "Make sure nobody panics. If they mess up my floors, someone dies."

Snorting, Jeannie goes for the door. "You realize you're going to end up a crazy old lady with fifty cats, right?"

Meredith flips her off. It's the sisterly thing to do.

-

Jeannie makes the announcement; Meredith makes phone calls. The settlements are close to the highway, but the roads aren't exactly three lanes. They'll fill up and close fast and while Jeannie handles people, her elder sister knows government. She's put in enough work with all three levels that she knows who to call to get it done. It does take more than a little arm twisting and threatening, but she does it. She convinces a contact in the department of highways to reroute a snowplow.

"It's a one shot deal, though," she tells Jeannie. "They can't afford to make a second pass. If it hits the media --"

"Mike Duffy will be dissecting your political machinations on Sunday afternoon TV." Jeannie nods. "Yeah, we really don't want to go there." She looks over at Meredith, grinning. "Grams thought you marrying an American was scandalous enough. Can you imagine? She'd have you shot at dawn."

Meredith shudders. "Horrifying, truly, but not what I meant. I was thinking of the terrifying possibility of having to entertain nearly a hundred people over the Christmas holiday." The house is huge, but not big enough. "It's bad enough having you here."

Jeannie flips _her_ off this time. Family.

 

-

No one argues. Well, almost no one argues. Meredith should have seen this one coming. In retrospect, she knows that.

People file past them, bundling up in their coats and hats. It's easy to spot the locals in the group. Finery hidden beneath heavy winter gear while the imports shiver beneath cloaks and coats impractical against a fierce Nova Scotian winter. She doesn't watch them go. It's not the first time she's seen it, in fact some of them she's seen like this before.

Calling them slow learners is being kind. Meredith doesn't even bother. She focuses on John and the mulish expression on his face. The man's always been a stubborn ass, it's bizarre to think she once thought the trait endearing. "This is my house, John, if I say you're leaving, you're leaving."

John glowers, starting to say, "It's m--" before realizing better. At least, she thinks so. He takes a breath, calm and even, and moves closer. "I'm not leaving you here. Not in the middle of a storm."

With a smirk, Meredith gestures to the house around her. "This is my _home_. I couldn't possibly be any safer at the hotel."

"It's a blizzard." His voice is slow, patient, as if she can't even begin to understand the obvious. "You could be snowed in for God knows how long."

Rolling her eyes, Meredith nudges him toward the door. "Yes, because that's certainly never happened to me before, what with the east coast of Canada being such a tropical getaway. When I say I will be fine, John, I mean it. It's not as if I'll be alone. Jeannie and her family are here, plus the staff and their families. It's _Christmas_. You should take Dr. Weir and go back to your hotel."

She's proud of herself for not choking on the comment. It's certainly not what she wants to say.

"Elizabeth already left," John smiles. "Her security's idea. They didn't want her trapped here during a storm." He sits down, folding his arms and leaning his head back against the plush fabric of the chair. "You're stuck with me." His eyes sweep over her. "Did I tell you that you look _amazing_ in that dress?"

Meredith scowls. "Where's the punch?" She asks of her sister as Jeannie closes the door behind the last of the other guests.

"Why?"

Stomping off, Meredith snaps, "I'm going to throw my dress in it."

-

She flees to the safety of her bedroom. The wind howls past outside as she starts to struggle out of her dress. It's the worst storm she's seen in a few years and Meredith honestly hopes everyone made it home safely. The last she heard the highways were messy, but passable and she reminds herself Halifax isn't far. It might take them a while, but they'll be fine.

"Here," John says, his fingers closing around the zipper, "let me help you with that." Of course he followed her. John's never been able to resist a fight a day in his life. Except for the one time she'd needed him to fight, but it isn't as if she's holding a grudge.

Anymore at least.

Meredith considers arguing with him, but dismisses it with a sigh. She couldn't get it done up without help, there's no chance she'd get free without it. That's the logical reason, but it's not much of one. The chance to feel John's hands against her skin, now that's something she can't pass up. Having had him so close all night has been killing her. "I know why you stayed," she says, fighting the instinct to shiver when John's hands, warm and sure, brush her back. "Whatever the job offer is, I'm not going to take it."

"You haven't heard my offer yet." John's voice lowers, wrapping around her like an audible seduction. "I promise it's a good one."

"You could offer me the SGC on a platter and I'd say no." Meredith's breath catches. "I said no, John. I meant it." She turns, letting the dress hang open as she fixes a glare on him. She can't think when he's this close, when his hands are on her body and she's suddenly desperate to put space between them. "Why won't you listen? I Don't. Want. The. Job."

"You don't even know what it is!" He looks astonished and it disappoints her yet again. How much John doesn't seem to know about her is astounding. She'd thought he was one of the few people on the planet that really understood her. Finding out she was wrong reopens the old wounds and she feels exposed with her pain bleeding out before them. Meredith really, really hates it. "Do you really hate them _that much_?"

She half-snorts, shaking her head. "Considering you were there, John, I'm surprised you mixed that up. I don't hate them, John, they hate _me_." Walking away, she kicks off her shoes. The carpet is soft beneath her toes and she stops by the window, sliding her foot back and forth. The sensation of the carpet tickling against her feet is comforting and she repeats the action. "The idea of going back to Stargate Command now, after everything?" She laughs. "You stayed. You saw how they treated Jonas."

She swallows, feeling guilty all over again about abandoning the little guy when she left. Not that she really did, they asked her to leave and it wasn't as if he could follow her, but that isn't the point. She doesn't know what happened to him, exactly, but she knows he's not with the SGC anymore. Getting details at a distance is difficult and all she's left with is her speculations. It's a pity. She actually liked him. The idea of his being left to… "It must've been worse for him." She smiles, knowing it's bitter. "Whatever else they blamed me for, no one could blame me for getting Sam killed." Just almost. She remembers Sam on the floor before her, feels the terror lance through her again, and shakes her head. "You never understood, John."

She's been telling herself that it's not his fault, that she expected too much from him back then, but she still can't help being angry. She's not sure she wants to. He should understand. She lifts her head to look back at him. He's staring at her, looking as confused and angry as she feels. "It's why we broke up."

His expression twists, anger bubbling over. "Like hell it is. We broke up because you walked away."

"ME?" Meredith's voice rises, not quite a yell but not far from one. She knows this is not the time to be talking about this, that her family could overhear at any moment, but once the floodgates come down, there's no stopping it. "How am _I_ to blame! You're the one who said you wanted a divorce, I just gave you what you were asking for!" She fumes, pushing shaking hands through her hair, dislodging pins and sending curls spilling down her shoulders. "What else was I supposed to do? Fight? Trap you where you didn't want to be? You made it quite clear where you belonged." Her voice falls as she speaks, ending on a small, vulnerable note. "I could never compete with that."

He belongs with the SGC, fitting it a thousand times more than she ever could. John was their people. He bucked the rules, flouted tradition, and did what his conscience told him. All the things Stargate Command did. John was a master at colouring outside the lines. Meredith wasn't. The admission is like sandpaper on her skin, but it's the truth. She's still working on accepting it.

John sighs. "You didn't even _try_." He pushes his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking off wildly. "Goddammit, Mer, I didn't want a divorce. I was trying to get your attention, but you convinced yourself I was fucking Carter and once you got that in your head --" He throws a hand outward in an expansive gesture. "You never fucking listen, Meredith. Never. You just hear what you want to hear and that's it. Nevermind the fact it's a complete fantasy, it made sense. Our marriage failed because I was fucking your rival. That's the only thing it could be. It couldn't have been the part where you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself, you completely checked out of our life."

She flinches despite herself. "Arrogance is a familial trait," she says, softly. Pulling back the curtain, she looks out at the snow. It's a true Nova Scotian blizzard. The winds are violent enough to make the window panes rattle and she thinks she can feel it blasting through her bones. "My mother always said, if the wind hits the window just right – it's like the glass isn't even there, it just goes right through you." She makes a dismissive noise, shaking off the thoughts with a scowl. She had too much champagne at the party. It's making her maudlin. "You're right, you know."

It's unexpected just how easy it is to make that admission. Staring out at the snow, she can almost pretend she's talking to herself. "I just – it was easier. You were supposed to understand, you were the one person I thought would, but you didn't. Not even after you saw how they treated me."

"I never agreed with it," John murmurs, moving closer. She doesn't need to look, she just knows. She can feel where he is. "I tried – I just – you didn't make it easier. The only thing you did was make it easy to hate you." His hands land on her shoulders, warming her whether she wants it or not. "Did you always have to be so damned antagonistic?"

"Of course not," Meredith says. "I didn't have to be such a bitch and they didn't have to --" She pushes at his hands. "Nevermind. I've had enough of this conversation." She twists free, stumbling out from beneath his presence. "Thank you for your help with the dress. If you'll leave me alone, I'd like to change and go to bed. One of the servants will make up a room for you and -- " John's mouth lands on hers, gentle but insistent.

When he lifts it again, she's still. It's not out of calm, but astonishment. She's still as angry as all get out, but she can't move. She just stares at him in complete disbelief. "What the hell was that?"

He smiles, brushing a thumb against her lower lip. "Me apologizing. How am I doing?"

"Lousy." Meredith says, but kisses him again anyway.

-

She doesn't quite know how they end up in her bathroom, but she's not going to argue with it either. They fumble and pull at each other's clothing. John's suit is a problem, resisting her fingers mindless attempts to remove it, but her underwear is no less so. She laughs when he swears, muttering an oath under his breath and against her mouth when her bra stubbornly resists all attempts at being unhooked.

When he tugs just a little more forceful than he should, she pulls back to warn, "Rip it and die." Not that she cares, really, she just wants to see that flash of frustration in his eyes. The sight of it makes her grin and kiss him again.

He breaks the kiss, his mouth going to her shoulder, sliding slick kisses over her skin. He's greedy, his kisses trying to be everywhere at once. It's a greedy sort of possessiveness that sends warmth spreading out through her. Meredith doesn't pay it much attention, doesn't want to look too closely at what she might be feeling. She won't let herself be bought, despite the fact her body's screaming at her to let it happen.

She feels her bra fall away, slip-sliding down her arms. She pulls one arm free and forgets about the other, letting it hang uselessly from her wrist. Her attention goes to his pants, pushing them and his underwear down. With his body freed to her exploration, Meredith lets herself run wild. He's hot and hard under her hands and in a second he's slumped against the bathroom counter, hands scrabbling for purchase as she jacks him. It's easy to fall into the rhythm she remembers him liking, but she doesn't. She holds back, enjoying the frustrated noises he makes when her fingers just miss the right spot. She comes close, pushing him toward the brink and letting him teeter wildly on the edge without letting him fall.

John stares at her, eyes dark and wanting, as she leans forward. There's no disguising the desperation in either one of them and she knows it's been as long for him as her. Whether or not he's fucked anyone since the divorce doesn't matter. Meredith can see it in his eyes. No one can do this to him, not like she can and she thrills at it.

Pulling away without letting him finish, she turns and starts the water. It fills the bathroom with steam, making her skin flush where passion has not. She laughs when John grabs her, his cock pressing against her ass. "I missed this," he says, speaking against the skin of her shoulder. "I missed you."

Meredith turns with a faint smile. "You knew where I was." She pulls him back into the shower with her, letting their momentum carry her back until she hits the shower tile with a slick, slapping thud.

Her feet start to go out from beneath her but John's there in the next second, his body pressing up against hers as the hot water beats down. "Got you," he says his arms around her waist. He's grinning, breathless, and hot as hell.

She wants to smack him, just on the principle of it. Instead, she narrows her eyes and shakes her head. "No," she says on a hiss. "You don't." She's not sure he ever did, and for a second, she can see in his eyes that he's not sure either. The hurt of that is surprising, but she doesn't take it back. She lifts her chin and knows she looks defiant as she adds, "This doesn't mean what you think it does."

Even as she says it, she's moving. Her fingers slide up his chest, pausing to rub lightly over his nipples. She watches the way his eyes darken again, want widening the pupils and chasing the hurt away. It's been two years, but she remembers. She knows exactly where and how to touch him, remembers everything that will put him completely at her mercy and the power of it is intoxicating and a curse all at once.

John's body is a torment her mind has never quite been able to let her forget. Another one of her self-imposed punishments. Refusing to think about it anymore, Meredith curls fingers around his tags and pulling his mouth down to hers. John doesn't hesitate to take her up on the invitation, kissing her like his life depends on it. He presses her back into the tile, nipping at her lower lip. "This is just sex," she warns into the kiss. "Whatever the job is, I'm not going to let you talk me into it."

"You want to." John feathers kisses across her face, the faint hint of his stubble teasing her skin. "I know you, Mer. You can't help yourself." He grinds into her and she pushes back in response. Defiant, she reaches for him again, knowing she can have him on his knees, begging for her with just the right touch. He doesn't give her the chance, catching both her hands in his before she can reach her goal.

He pushes them over her head, trapping them against the wall. It's only natural to go with the movement, pushing her out against him. She hooks a leg over his hip, balancing herself on him and they both try to stifle a groan. "You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't worth it," says John, speaking against her temple, "You're going to listen, Mer, and I'm willing to bet you're going to say yes."

"Fuck you," she snaps. She hates it when he talks like that and he knows it. He knows it just like she knows that's why he's doing it. She's never been a foregone conclusion, not with anyone but him. The dig hits every button she's got and she's fuming against him. Nobody can make her this angry this fast. Nobody but John. She tries to pull away, but his grip on her tightens and he steps back, just enough to meet her gaze. He's angry, but more than that, he's lost.

He's looking at her with eyes that are searching, desperate for something familiar and safe. They've never been either one except in the way they are. It's completely illogical and more than a little fucked up, but it's the truth. She's always been his touchstone and, for a moment, she can see the toll losing her has taken on him. She wants to grin and enjoy it, but she can't.

She glories in her 'bitch' status, but not right now. Not in this moment. Instead, she stands there and stares at him without a word. She could break his grip at any moment and they both know it. John knows better than anyone else, he taught her how. She's the one in control here, in more ways than one, everything about him screaming 'please' louder than his voice ever could.

She stays.

After a moment where the only sound is the water beating down around them, John begins to smile. After another moment, he steps closer again and it's as if the moment never happened.

"Nah," says John. "I'd rather fuck you." His words try for flippancy, but there's a rough note in his tone that belies his attempt. He isn't shaking, but she can feel the tense edge in his body, the way he presses against her. She feels, more than knows, what this is costing him and lets herself feel guilty.

They were never this awkward. She let this happen. Guilty, she squirms and distracts them both. "All right, then _Colonel_, give it your best shot." Her confident smirk is a lie, but they both need it told.

"That a challenge, Doc?" he asks, fitting himself against her.

She grins. "Do you want it to be?"

It looks hot on camera, but shower sex is as awkward as hell and neither one of them has the patience to make it work. Two years without each other. Meredith can remember when they couldn't go two days.

She opens her mouth, ready to admit as much, but John cuts her off with a kiss. He backs her out of the shower again, fumbling for a towel as they go. "I meant it," he says, wrapping the towel around her. "I missed you. You have no idea just how much."

Meredith traces patterns on his chest, leaning into him. "I think I might."

He pulls away, finally putting distance between his mouth and hers. "No," says John, completely serious. "You really don't."

She wants to argue, but she can't bring herself to do it. Not with him looking at her like that. Like he's starved for the sight of her, like everything she's said to him in the past two years never happened. Like none of it matters to him and she thinks, maybe, it doesn't.

It's a dangerous thought, prompting something to flare deep in her soul. She doesn't call it hope, refuses to consider it might be, but that doesn't stop it. It could never stop it.

Not even when she commands herself to forget it. She's a pragmatist. She knows that he'll just leave again, that this isn't what she thinks it is. Stargate Command sent him to her, he didn't come of his own doing and when it calls, John will go again and she won't follow.

This is a temporary reprieve and she shouldn't get used to it.

She can't bring herself to do it. Instead, she pulls John's mouth down to hers and lets them both fall, still soaking wet, onto the broad expanse of her bed. Nebby yowls, his protest ignored by his humans, who slip and slide against each other as they roll about the bed.

"I even missed that furball," says John in a mutter against her neck.

Meredith grins. She rocks up into him, her legs holding tight against him. "Funny, he hasn't missed you. He has his side of the bed back."

"Not tonight he doesn't." John's fingers slip between her legs, thumb rubbing her clit. She's not the only one who remembers, his fingers on her confident and sure. He pushes down in just the right spot with just the right pressure and she comes apart with a cry they have to hear downstairs. His name comes out in a panting plea and she grabs for him, fingertips slipping on his wet skin.

She's not ready when his mouth replaces his fingers, tongue licking a strip over her. He repeats the action, tongue wiggling and stroking where she needs it. With a keening cry, Meredith grabs for the sheets. It's all too much too fast, her body hot and shaking and John puts a hand on her hip, holding her still as he works.

It doesn't take much to send her over the edge again.

When she can think again, she lies there for a moment, happily useless, until she realizes John is waiting for her. She pushes herself up on her elbows, looking down at the face between her legs. He looks up for a moment, grinning when their eyes connect, and then he goes back again. Just keeps working her until she feels like she'll explode if he touches her one more time.

"I won't, you know," she warns, gulping down a breath and trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent. It doesn't work.

John looks up, chin shiny with her. Her body's still raw from the last orgasm, but she can't help it. Staring at him, she wants to pull him into her and fuck until there's nothing left but the pleasure. Wipe out the past two years, the future, all of it. Just have the here and now and forget the rest. "Won't what?"

She fixes him with a glare, knowing it's her turn to be stubborn and mulish. "Sex as currency? Orgasms won't make me change my mind." As much as she's missed them, she's really not that easy. She just likes to pretend she is. Sometimes.

"Hell no, I'll leave that to Elizabeth," says John, rising over her. As if he can read her mind, hear what she's asking of him, he buries himself in her body. She welcomes him and the sudden rush of pleasure with a fevered cry.

She grabs for John, her hands finding fistfuls of his hair, holding him against her neck and shoulder as he sets a rhythm that's desperate, bordering on punishing. She wants to ask who it is he's angry with, but she's not sure she wants to hear the answer.

She's even less sure of who she wants his answer to be. She turns her face toward his skin, letting the smell of aftershave and sex sweep her away. She'll worry about it later. She's done nothing but for two years anyway. She's earned herself a break.

-

Later, when they're both settled beneath the sheets, John wraps himself around her. It's tempting to pretend that the divorce never happened and that they're home for Christmas. Meredith closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself indulge in the fantasy. The problem is, she's never had much imagination and she never learned to leave well enough alone.

He's nuzzling her neck, cuddling into her when she murmurs, "I'm serious, you know. Whatever the job is, I'm not interested."

John disentangles himself, sitting up to look at her. The expression on his face is disbelieving and she feels guilty. The sheets fall away from him as he sits up and she slides a hand along his back. She Meredith knows that whatever it is, the job must be amazing if it's brought both him and Dr. Weir here to convince her, but it hardly matters. What she knows; John doesn't. There's nothing he could say to convince her.

"I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. I'm not."

If the last two years have taught her anything, it's that promises and names are worthless. Everything that she thought she couldn't live without, she can and even do so happily. What she needs, she has here, and even all this she can live without. This isn't to say she doesn't want it, she does, but she's never going there again.

"I'm serious, John," she says, sitting up with him, her hand on his shoulder. There's a new scar on it and she traces it absently, letting herself wonder what put it there. "As much as I want it, I'm not interested in it." Her smile is absent as she leans forward, letting her lips trail across it. "Consider me in recovery."

He sighs, the softness of his breath whispering over the skin of her back. She pushes him backward, stretching across him while her fingers map out the new marks of his body. There are a lot, too many, and her mind begins formulating the potential scenarios of their creation.

"Recovery from what?"

She grins against his skin, nipping a spot near his elbow. "Pick something." There's a surprising lack of bitterness when she says, "I'm sure someone at the Mountain can give you a list. Glory seeking, god complex --" Him. "Whatever." She trails a finger down his side, following a newer scar. It's still fading, pink with its newness, and she pays it close attention.

He squirms beneath her touch, laughing when her tongue flicks it. "Hey!"

Meredith looks up. "I can't go back there, John. Not the way I left it."

He reaches for her, the calluses on his hands raising gooseflesh as they pass over her skin. "You don't have to." He pulls her onto him, letting her spread out over him like a blanket. The desperation in his eyes is difficult to look at, but Meredith can't pull her eyes away. She stares at him, mute as he makes his plea. "There's a project, Meredith. We found something. Something _big_. If you come with us, you'd be the lead scientist on a massive expedition. You have no idea what you're turning it down."

"Which is what makes it so easy to turn down." Meredith raises herself up, resting on her forearms to look him square in the eye. "Do you want me to give you the usual speech? Because I can you know. Why would I want to work with that lot anyway? They're too stupid and blind to see past the ends of their own noses. I'd spend half my time pointing out the obvious and the other half trying to explain why one plus one equals two. If I wanted work like that, I'd ask for a government post. At least the coffee would be worth it."

John grins, flipping them. She yelps, grabbing for him as their bodies roll. He's laughing when he leans down to whisper in her ear, "Yeah, but the calculators here aren't Ancient."

She stares, wide-eyed, at him as he sits back. "What did you just say?"

With a shrug, John stretches out beside her, skimming his hand across the softness of her belly. "You heard me. Jackson did it again."

The mention of Daniel Jackson's name peaks her interest more than it should. Meredith looks at John. He has her attention now and he knows it, but she gives him credit for saying nothing. She pushes a hand through her hair, exhaling heavily.

"Okay," she says, heavily, "I'll bite. What did he find?"

John smiles. "You're going to _love_ this."

-

"I'm told this is the coinage of the realm?" Elizabeth says, thrusting a cup of Tim's at her. She grins and holds up a box of donuts. "Just in case."

Meredith steps back, letting her in. The cold is bitter, wafting about her legs as she closes the door behind Elizabeth. "They finally got the roads clear I see."

"Does it always take so long?" asks Elizabeth, shaking snow from her hair. "Or was this one an especially bad storm?"

"Yes, and yes," Meredith says unhelpfully. "It usually takes this long out here and this was an especially bad storm." She sips the coffee and sighs happily. "But this is very appreciated." She grins. "Brewing it myself just doesn't have the same kick."

She leads Elizabeth into the house. "I trust the roads weren't a complete disaster?"

"They're passable." Elizabeth seems content enough to keep playing the polite attempt a civil conversation. Even with Meredith shooting nervous looks at her. "Good morning, John." She tips her head, smiling at John where he sits on the sofa. Madison is curled up beside him, telling a story with one of her presents. It's complete nonsense of course, but John's having the time of his life.

John grins. He if he looks like he spent the past week in bed, which isn't that far from the truth. "Good morning, Elizabeth." He stretches out on the couch making a show of getting comfortable.

Meredith knows her cheeks are a bright red, but Elizabeth takes pity and doesn't look her way. She does send a slightly scolding look John's way. At least, she assumes so going by the unrepentant smirk that blossoms onto John's face.

She will not cringe. She will not cringe. Not even with John glancing her way and being completely not subtle about it all.

"I take it you're here to collect your missing officer?" Meredith asks around an embarrassed cough. "Your new job can't possibly go without you for much longer."

"They'll manage." Elizabeth says, examining the pile of unwrapped presents with a smile, making the appropriate noises over Madison's slightly disgusting haul of toys. Meredith isn't embarrassed to admit the majority of them came from her. She's still not sure if the fun comes from shopping for Madison, annoying Jeannie, or a combination of both, but she's indulging herself quite happily.

"She brought you coffee," John observes. "She must like you." His grin widens. "Or she's trying to win you over."

Meredith looks at Madison. She's too young to understand the conversation and her parent are still in bed. She shrugs and sits down. "I might be willing to listen."

Raising one eyebrow, Elizabeth takes a doll from Madison and looks at Meredith. "He told you?"

Meredith nods. "Yes." She sits next to John, wrapping her hands around the mug. "I'm thinking about it."

"Which is an improvement," says John. "Trust me, she wouldn't hear of it in the beginning."

"Well, we expected resistance." Elizabeth gets up. "John, would you mind? I'd like to talk to Dr. Sheppard for a moment."

The shift in her tone straightens the backs of both John and Meredith. Neither one of them says a word about Elizabeth's choice in surnames, but John's hand brushes Meredith's shoulder when he stands.

"Sure." He picks up Madison, bouncing her on his hip. She squeals with laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We'll go get started on breakfast."

"Brunch," Meredith corrects absently, curling her feet up beside her. "Thank you."

He nods.

When he's gone, Elizabeth looks at her. "It wasn't his idea."

"What wasn't?" Meredith asks, keeping the caution out of her tone. She doesn't want to admit just how much depends on Elizabeth's answer.

Knowing Elizabeth's background, it's no surprise when Elizabeth smiles. "My choice of you for this expedition. Your ex-husband had absolutely nothing to do with it." She pauses. "Well, at least he didn't until he found out."

Meredith sits forward, putting the cup down on the coffee table. "What do you mean exactly?"

"You were my first choice, Meredith. I can't think of anyone more qualified to lead the scientific personnel if, and when, we get to Atlantis. I have people in mind if you refuse, I won't lie and say that I don't, but they don't hold a candle." Elizabeth's smile gentles. "Sam Carter was never even a possibility; you didn't make the list because your ex-husband persuaded me."

"I --" Meredith closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I wish I could say that wasn't a concern."

"It's understandable."

"It's paranoid and insecure." Meredith corrects, her tone sharp. "It also destroyed my marriage. Do you have any idea how much time I spent worrying about Sam Carter?"

"I can imagine." Elizabeth rises. "Probably as much time as I've spent worrying about General O'Neill, General West, and General Hammond." Brushing lint from her slacks, she sits in the chair opposite Meredith. She sits straight, like a queen holding court, and Meredith finds herself responding accordingly. She sits back, holding her chin up and keeping contact with Elizabeth's gaze. "It's not easy following in their footsteps. I second guessed myself a lot when I took that job. I'm sure it made me --"

"Act like me?" Meredith's smile is wry. "I doubt that."

"You shouldn't." Elizabeth looks at her. "It might be ridiculous, but human beings often are." She casts a casual look toward the doorway. "He won't go without you."

"Beg pardon?"

"John." Elizabeth laughs. "He's supposed to be heading the military contingent, but as soon as he found out you were my first choice to head the scientific one --"

Meredith groans. "He _didn't_."

"It seems your husband thinks that he has something to prove." Meredith suspects Elizabeth's choice of words is no more accidental now than it was the first time. "Does he?"

She's on her feet before she knows it, heading for the kitchen. "I'm going to kill him."

-

"What the --"

Storming into the kitchen, Meredith's almost at a yell when she remembers. She bites off the curse before it can slip out, but Madison and John are already staring at her. The identical expressions of shock would be comical if she weren't so angry. "Madison, Auntie Mer needs to talk to Uncle John for a minute, why don't you go show Dr. Elizabeth more of your Christmas presents?"

It's an invitation that the little girl can't pass up. "I'll be wite back!" she tells John, hopping down off the stool and running toward the living room and Elizabeth.

John looks at Meredith, trying for a cheerful smile. "Elizabeth may never forgive you for that."

Not having any of it, Meredith stalks forward and jabs a finger at his chest. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He blinks, looking at the bowl in his hands. "You want waffles instead?"

"No, you moron," Meredith jabs again, backing him toward the kitchen counter. "_Atlantis_! You told Dr. Weir you wouldn't go without me! What the hell are you thinking?"

Sighing, John puts the bowl aside. "That you don't get a lot of second chances." He takes hold of Meredith, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "I lost you once, Meredith. I'm not doing it twice. If Atlantis is there, if Jackson can find a way to connect to their Stargate, then there's a pretty good chance this is a one way trip. If it is, there's no way in hell I'm going without you." He brings his hands to her face, thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks. "You were an idiot, but I was a bigger one. When you didn't fight the divorce, I should've."

He leans forward, kissing her forehead. "We have a chance to fix this, Meredith, and as chances go, this one pretty much takes the whole damn bakery. We're talking about the city of the Ancients. _Us_ in the city of the Ancients."

"And if I don't go?" asks Meredith, her voice faint. Her head is spinning, heart pounding, and every breath feels like a herculean effort. All because of the way he's looking at her and the import of his words. It's everything she's been hoping to hear for two years and she can't quite believe it's happening now. "What happens then?"

"I don't go either." John kisses her nose, grinning. "This is an all or nothing proposition."

"It's blackmail." Meredith manages to scowl, trying to fight the smile that's threatening to take over her face.

"Yeah, but is it working?" John asks hopefully. "I'm serious, Meredith. Whatever happens, I want to fix this and if that means passing on this expedition, then I'm passing. Atlantis isn't worth giving you up again." He kisses her, slow and careful, as if he can persuade her to agree to this by the pure wish of his lips. Meredith isn't sure that he can't.

It's her choice, it always has been. She let him slip away the first time, whatever he might say she knows that, it'll be her choice to let him slip away again.

Taking a chance, Meredith closes her eyes and lets herself be persuaded.


End file.
